Tales from The Firefly House
by Beautybedamned
Summary: She was not always his haven, he was not always her Momotaro. Where the fireflies drift, there are more stories than most would know, each with so much to tell.
1. Introductions and Notes

**An Introduction...**

She was not always his haven, and he was not always her Momotaro. Where the fireflies drift and illuminate the dark, there are more stories than most would know, and each holds so much to tell.

In _The Village of Respite_, men and women drown themselves in merriment in the hopes of escaping the harsh realities of a world now caught between progress and disarray. People wander in and out, seeking all sorts of ways to heal. But not all who wander down these brightly lit streets seek the cures for their souls in the drink or against the warm body of a comely stranger. Still, the village welcomes all.

* * *

**Story Disclaimers, Credit and Acknowledgement: **

Any and all references, characters and the like found in the _Samurai 7_ (based on Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai) series are the property Toshifumi Takizawa and Shouji Murahama. Similarly, any and all information found in the _Legend of the Five Rings_ series are the property of the Alderac Entertainment Group. These are all used without permission, but are strictly written into these stories for fan-purposes only. Their ideas are amazing and incredibly detailed and I'm happy enough to (sometimes) play in the rather large and equally wonderful sandbox that they have created.

Moreover, I would like to say a great big thank you to Kam Martinez (Sleepwalking Dreamer) who wrote _Threads Triptych_, which is the source of inspiration for all of these pieces. I hope I can write Kotori, Seiichiro, Hideaki and the world that they live in well enough to do you justice. _Threads Triptych_ is without a doubt the best and most unexpected gift I have ever received from anyone. Thank you so much, these pieces are all for you, _anamchara_.

For anything else that I may have forgotten, standard disclaimers apply. Please don't sue, I'm not making any money out of this; the please I get from bringing out and writing something is enough for me.

To read more drabbles related to _Tales from the Firefly House_ visit (HTTP:// inherseason . blogspot . com) or contact me at (HTTP:// mlina . livejournal . com).


	2. That Rainy Evening

Yukino found her on the steps, drenched to the bone, both feet bare under her tattered dress. Though apparently asleep, the sandal in her hand, it's strap broken, was clutched between her fingers, the knuckles pale and white as if tensed from holding on. Her long, black hair clung to her face and shoulders like seaweed, and long black lashes were frail crescent moons carrying transparent, little pearls of water.

The youjo had knelt down slowly, the sound of laughter drifting out from The Firefly House somewhat hushed by the steady rush of late February rain. Winter was leaving, and with the promise of warmer months more and more wandered into The Village of Respite in the hopes of finding some beautiful young thing to while the nights away with.

"Just a little while longer, please,"

The whisper startled Yukino, but not as much as the sightless eyes that opened for her to see. "I won't linger very long." The murmur was soft and hoarse, as if short of all voice had left her. She watched, her umbrella still clutched in her own hand, as the girl straightened, and Yukino noticed for the first time the leather case that sat quiet on her lap.

"Just until the rain stops," Trembling hands lifted to brush away her matted hair, and her face remained as impassive as a porcelain mask. When the hand fell away, the fingers settled protectively over the edge of the case, curling in like hooks to keep it there.

"Please...?"

-----

**written to:** sadame (for piano) // sato naoki (xtv soundtrack)  
**prompts: **whisper, rain;


	3. A Blossoming Affair

_The lights never dim in this place_, he thought to himself, leaning idly against the frame of an open window. Even in the ungodly hours of morning the sounds of merry-making were still loud and lively as though the sun had set only minutes before. It was a world unto itself, this town where love was a prize bestowed to the highest bidder and smiles often carried the undercurrent of profit. It was a city of desire and satisfaction, of need and imagined necessity, where streets led weary or anxious feet to the open and waiting arms of women, and the drinks never stopped flowing.

He had been living here for the last five months, a shadow of his former self. The sounds of the battlefield were a memory now, fading fast with the nights that sometimes seemed both too long and too short. He sighed and drew his right hand across his torso, curling his fingers around the cloth that covered the curve of his left shoulder. His heart felt heavy and somewhat incomplete; it was nothing unusual.

"Samurai-_sama_," a soft voice murmured by the doorway and though he had felt her presence minutes before, Shichiroji turned his head only now that she had called his attention.

"I told you not to call me that anymore," he offered a faint smile, allowing his hand to fall away as he stood upright, his fingers finding a comfortable perch on his hip. Even shrouded in shadow, he knew every feature on her face; every line, every dip and hollow of her body. A familiar and uneasy feeling crawled over his stomach and his jaw tensed just a little before he spoke again. "I returned with the sake, but the young ones informed me that you were busy with someone," his hand lifted -- the only one he had left -- and he brushed his fingertips gently along the column of her neck, seeking the pulse that sometimes throbbed to the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

"I know you will tell me I have no right to ask..." His voice was slightly hoarse, and he cleared his throat halfway through his sentence, "but who was it tonight?" Her hair threaded through his fingers like thin stalks of wheat not yet ready for harvest. It was all he could do to check his temper and pull away; he had never known jealousy, but the last few months had taught him enough. "Give me a name so that I may conjure the face in my mind."

She smiled at him then, a slow and serene gesture upon the beauty of her face, and she caught his lone hand between both of her own, lifting it, palm face up, to her lips. "I am a wanted woman, samurai-_sama_," her kisses were soft against his callused palm and he gave into the urge to cup her chin. When he lifted her face, their eyes meeting in the night, he noted the warmth in them that signaled an invitation into her bed... or his. "As mistress of The Firefly House, I have my duties." Her fingers stroked his own, as if a distraction, but his eyes never left hers. "Surely you understand."

He watched her turn and go, her skirt caressing the wooden floor beneath their feet the way a lover hovers his hands over his beloved, and he fell a step forward, allowing only that much before he held her fast, their fingers entwined like ivy upon a crumbling stone wall.

"I do and I don't," he whispered, pulling her back and against him, allowing his one arm to come around her. He inhaled her scent: a mix of incense and smoke, of alcohol and powder, and felt the warmth of his breath linger over her skin. He tightened his embrace, allowing a smile as she welcomed it. "Are we at peace now, Yukino?"

"Only if you promise to keep your temper in check," she replied, as quick and as sure as a blade arcing through tall grass. He heard her sigh, heavy and sweet and swallowed, missing the taste of her lips. "I have clients to see to, Shichiroji," she murmured, her weight comfortable against the solidness of his body. "Promises to keep."

He nuzzled her neck, her pulse enticing beneath her pale flesh. "Every promise in this place is a lie wrapped in pretty trappings." He breathed her in again, unable to resist the action. "You've bewitched me, woman."

"That is your fault, not mine."

His grip tightened then, though not enough to bruise. He felt her tremble against him and took some satisfaction in that. It was forbidden to want more than what she could give; no happiness could come from it. But still... "Where were you?" He dared the question again, leaning his head on her deceptively fragile shoulder. "Answer me that at least?" He would never harm those who stepped under the arch of her doorway, they both knew that. He also knew she would never tell, and in the morning he would guess instead, based upon what trinkets were carelessly left behind.

"There is a girl in the far end of the house." She murmured, her head turning so that her eye caught him in its periphery. "I tell you this because I trust you, odd as that may sound." He loosened his embrace, and she turned to face him, her expression betraying the worry hidden behind her eyes. "She sat on the steps, seeking shelter from the rain." He watched her swallow.

"Shichiroji..." she began, forgetting the honorific as her gaze fell to where his hand was cocooned between hers; it was a habit she had taken to when she needed his wisdom. "There is a _mon_ carved beneath the soundboard of her koto. I saw it when I took it out in order to clean and dry it from the rainwater." She breathed in deep and expelled the breath with a heavy sigh. "I do not recognize it, but perhaps you would."

He drew her close momentarily, his lips brushing her forehead. "She is a child, and while I may know how to care for young girls, Shichiroji-_sama_," her gaze lifted and her eyes searched his, "I know nothing of caring for the blind."

-----

**written to:** sadame (for piano) // sato naoki (xtv soundtrack)  
**prompts:** samurai, heartbeat;


	4. Interlude

Kotori had stopped playing eight breaths before Yukino slid open the door. The piece was unfinished, but she had filed it away in her mind. The footsteps had told her someone was coming, and it was only polite for her to cease her music-making in order to greet whoever it was properly.

"Ah, Kotori-_chan_, _gomen_, _gomen_," the woman apologized, and Kotori recognized her for who she was. It seemed the mistress of The Firefly House was breathless from the quickness of her pace. "It seems I have the wrong room again." Kotori listened as Yukino seemed to swallow her words, the manner reminiscent of that of a swimmer gulping in air right before plunging back into the water. "That's the third time tonight. Where is that damned Asano."

The blind koto player allowed herself a small smile as she drew one hand away from the strings beneath her fingers. To Yukino's statement she answered as if to a question: "Asano-_san_ said he would return within the hour, Yukino-_san_," she informed her mistress, "The sake ran short so he took it upon himself to retrieve new kegs."

"Please," Kotori continued, gesturing slightly off the mark to the pillows set opposite her. "Sit awhile, Yukino-_san_. I will play for you until he returns. I doubt that he will be gone for very long." 

She didn't see Yukino nod, though the woman did. Instead, Kotori heard the shifting of fabric as the youjo folded her legs under her to sit upon one of the pillows. Kotori did not see her turn her gaze to the open window and the world that lay beyond that, but the words that followed informed her as much.

"It's a beautiful night, Kotori-_chan_," Yukino seemed to breathe in awe, "the moon is especially full, and the sky is incredibly bright."

She wove the music about them, and Kotori tilted her head to one side, giving the brief impression that she would lose herself in the notes that her fingers seemed to braid. She did not see Yukino smile, but instead heard the sigh that accompanied it, wistful as the fog that snuck under the doors in the winter months. "I've lost count now, how long he's been gone." 

"I have no doubt that Shichiroji-_sama_ thinks often too of Yukino-_san_."

Kotori did not need to see the curious look that woman saw her, her handicap had taught her other senses to pay attention well to other things in order to compensate for her lack of sight. The momentary pause in Yukino's breath told her that she had touched upon the topic of her thoughts, and the soft hiss of fingers brushing away something from the cloth of her kimino told Kotori confirmed that it indeed was the former samurai that Yukino was thinking on.

Habits betray people. Kotori could not see them, but she had learned to listen. 

"Shichiroji-_sama_ will return." She spoke with absolute certainty. "Sometimes promises can be enough." 

When Yukino's soft laugh reached her, Kotori could almost touch the twinge of sadness that laced her words. "How did you know my thoughts, Kotori-_chan_?"

"Doubt has a certain sound to it, as does every other emotion." Her fingers plucked daintily at the strings, a small, new song coming to life at their tips. "Each breath has a weight all it's own, and Yukino-_san_'s has been heavy with worry, regret and loneliness."

"You sound like you know what it's like to be inlove, Kotori-_chan_." The simple statement halted her song, and Kotori felt her lower lip quiver just a little. Old memories flashed in her mind in time to the metronome of her heart; another lifetime, another place -- one where the world and it's colors were still hers to behold.

"Even I have a price to pay for my music, Yukino-_san_." She answered simply, and they both understood that their conversation had come to it's proper coda. Kotori's fingers resumed their little dance, and the blind girl inhaled deeply, pouring all her old wishes and all Yukino's new worries unto the fledgling piece. "Tell me again about the sky, Yukino-_san_," Kotori asked simply, the music taking seed and blooming forth into the flowers of a home she could only conjure up in memory. "Tell me about the first time Shichiroji-_sama_ taught you about the stars."

-----

**written to: **her most beautiful smile // iwashiro taro (rurouni kenshin)  
**prompts:** wrong room, the price to pay;


	5. A Homecoming

He arrived short of dawn, when the sky was still dark, the moon sleepy overhead and clouds seemed to linger closest to the mountains in the not too far off distance, as if preparing themselves for the ascent of the sun.

He'd snuck over the wall, it's mechanical guardian still broken and in need of repair and wondered on how long had it been since he'd left this place, with it's streets alive long past the midnight hour and the music filling people's ears with the noise of merry-making. The streets were silent as he walked through them, and the lamps that stood like thin sentries on either side were either dim or broken, casting a host of shadows that made the village seem like a ghost town.

He had traveled from Kanna mostly on foot, stopping only when fellow travelers asked him to join them for a meal. Apparently, in the short time since their defeat of the Nobuseri, people from all over the nation had heard word of seven noble samurai who stood up for the villagers of a tiny village suffering under the bandit's cruelty. All samurai were now viewed in a new light -- not as wayward strays from a previous era, but as men and women deserving of consideration and kindness.

He stood now before his intended destination, the windows dark from lack of life within. The signboard that normally glared a bright fuschia pink with the character for the establishment's name slumbered, it's light shut as an eye might from exhaustion.

He eased his footsteps up the wooden steps, each seemingly in time with the quiet beating of his heart. They had sat here on numerous nights, speaking to each other of fireflies and debts, or staying but never of going. They had sat, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the perfume on her neck whispering his secrets and desires back towards him in the breeze.

"Welcome home," a voice seemed to come from the darkness, and he stopped, his stance shifting briefly to allow him enough room to defend himself if the need would arise. What time he had spent away had roused his warrior's instincts from their slumber, causing him to once again treat the unknown as a guarded man might.

He spotted her figure in the darkness, the solidness of her form darker in contrast to the space around her. The the line of her hand melted into the shadowed form of her koto, unifying two separate pieces into once.

Her face was shrouded, but he didn't need to see to know that she would not stop him from entering. Shichiroji relaxed then, his body straightening as he walked towards this who he had once known, if briefly, as a lost, little girl. "It is far too early for you to be awake, Kotori-_chan_."

"Yukino-_san_ is sleeping still within," she smiled, her sightless gaze focused onto the space beyond him. She ignored his statement as if it mattered little, and her head tilted the slightest, her long lashes like twin butterflies, folding half-moons right above the apples of her cheeks. "She will be glad that Shichiroji-_sama_ has returned safely."

In the east, the sun rose, peering lazily over the wall of mountains and spilling excess light into a gradually brightening sky. The clouds turned different hues at their tips, like paint seeping onto canvass.

"Thank you," Shichiroji smiled, the first notes of a new piece singing softly into the air, frail and breakable as the thinnest glass. He turned then, the house still dark and still, but no less welcoming than the home that it had become to him.

-----

**written to: **nicol no piano "namida no theme" // kakijima shinji (gundam seed soundtrack)  
**prompts:** secrets, debt;


End file.
